


5 Times Ulfric Lied and 1 Time He Didn't

by LittleMusket, WaywardLeviathan



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Heartbreak, Implied Sexual Content, Swearing, Ulfric sucks but he still has feelings, i actually died writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMusket/pseuds/LittleMusket, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardLeviathan/pseuds/WaywardLeviathan
Summary: Five times Ulfric lied to Samiir and one time he didn't.





	1. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a Bosmer named Samiir Oakrun arrives in Solitude, she's stopped in the market and meets the most beautiful man she's ever seen. Solutide, 4E 187

The first time he lied was when they first met. Samiir was 122: young for a Bosmer. She and her parents had just arrived on a ship from Falinesti, hoping for a new life in Skyrim. They had heard stories of the tall, cold mountains looming over magnificent cities and cozy villages, and forests rich with game. Ulfric Stormcloak was 38 at that time and had led the rebellion for 11 years, though the Empire paid little attention. The Oakrun family docked at Solitude, which they would later call home.

For once in her life, Samiir was sick of the ocean. It was all she had seen for so long; they had sailed all the way around High Rock to bypass the chaos in Cyrodiil, and it had been so long since she walked solid land. She and her parents set foot on the dock, dodging Breton traders and Argonians dockworkers. Nords walked up and down the boardwalk, viewing the ships and goods. Samiir couldn’t contain her excitement and set off on her own. There were so many new sights and sounds and smells. She followed a group of Nords up the cliffside, past a farm, and into the city.

She stopped at the gates, gazing up at the gargantuan doors that stood open before the great city. A few Nord children ran through the gate and stopped once they saw Samiir.

‘ _My eye,_ ’ she thought, ‘ _it must frighten them._ ’ The left side of her face was badly scarred, and her left iris completely white as a result of falling from Falinesti’s towering treetop city in her younger years. She offered them a smile and a wink from her damaged left eye, which she remarkably still had control of. The children continued their game, and Samiir entered Solitude.

A truly beautiful city indeed; the stories she had heard from fellow passengers on the voyage over did not exaggerate. From the stonework of the walls to the tattered crimson banners flying above what she assumed to be the guard station, not a single detail was missed by Samiir’s keen eyes. Following the flow of the crowd, Samiir smiled at everyone she met eyes with, wanting to make a good impression. The pale skin and bright eyes of the Nords were arguably the most interesting; she had never seen eyes so blue. Many were covered in freckles, much like her. Though with all these interesting features, no Nord truly caught her eye until she caught a glimpse of him.

Just off the path to a circular market stood a tall Nord with golden hair pulled out of his face with a few braids. He adorned dark clothing with a grey fur around his neck. He held a stone expression and appeared quite bored with everything. He stood with two other men, not nearly as remarkable, and every once in a while they would drop their conversation and look around the market. Samiir didn’t even realize that she had been staring until she saw one of them nonchalantly point it out to the man in grey, and he met her eyes. She startled out of her trance and offered an apologetic wave. She ran a hand through her auburn hair, pulling it away from her face. Regaining her wits, she continued on along the road, taking in the new city and trying to ignore the Nord.

It wasn’t until Samiir reached the Blue Palace that she realized the Nord and his companions had been trailing her.

‘ _Great,_ ’ she thought. ‘ _My first time in Skyrim and I’m going to get killed because I stared for too long._ ’ She wasn’t even sure why he had caught her eye. He wasn’t any different from the other Nords, just taller and slightly better looking than any man she had ever seen. She stopped just short of the bridge leading to the palace and turned around to confront the man. She tried to make it look like she had her head, though she was genuinely horrified of what might happen.

 

“You!” She said, stopping in front of the three strangers. “What do you want?”

“We don’t mean any harm,” said one of the companions. “We just want to ask a few questions.”

“Why? Am I a threat to you?” Samiir admitted that she sounded a little harsh, but if Nords thought they had to act tough, then so would she.

“We would hope you aren’t,” said the other. The Handsome One stayed silent, looking between his two goons and around at the city walls, but never directly at Samiir.

“Then what do you want?” Samiir placed her hands on her hips in a subconscious effort to make herself look confident. She genuinely thought she could take them in a fight. After all, she was very tall for her age, taller than these Nords, though she only carried a steel dagger while they carried axes and swords, and were all very muscular.

“My name is Galmar Stone-fist,” said the first. “We saw that you carry yourself in a different manner than the rest of your kind here.”

‘ _Your kind?_ ’ Samiir thought. She furrowed her brows and hardened her stare, but let him continue.

“Take no offense, we mean it kindly,” interrupted the second. “Galmar only means that you seem to be a foreigner. Fresh from Valenwood, perhaps?”

Samiir hesitated before answering. “I am.”

“Good!” Galmar said, “It is not often that we find newcomers. Let us tell you about our current situation.”

 

Galmar then went on to tell Samiir about the so-called Stormcloak Rebellion. It was fairly unimpressive, she collected, if the leader and two most prominent members had to seek out immigrants in order to further their cause. She listened politely, however, and agreed to spread the word. Only now did the leader speak, this Ulfric Stormcloak. Samiir was glad to have The Handsome One’s name, though at the same time missed the mystery.

 **“Should you ever find trouble, tell your keepers to call on me and I will have your name cleared.”** He told her.

“Sounds like a deal,” Samiir grinned and stuck out her hand. Ulfric grabbed it roughly and shook, which isn’t exactly what they do in Valenwood, but she was glad for the acceptance. The Nords bid her farewell and made their way back to the city gates, leaving Samiir to wonder what adventure this harsh land could offer.


	2. Hunting Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a nondescript forest on the northern border of the Reach, 4E 193, Samiir runs into Ulfric after 6 years and sees if he'll keep his first promise.

The second time he lied was merely chance. Had he and his guard left any time but when they did, they would not have met Samiir in the woods that day. She had been hunting for her family; meat for the table, hides for armor, antlers and bones to craft with and sell on the docks. The Oakruns always made the most of every animal Samiir hunted down; everything was used. It just so happened that on this particular trip, Samiir came across two bottles of a mystery substance that she would later learn was called Skooma, and apparently is very illegal in Skyrim. At the time, they looked like harmless potions that could bring in some coin to help further her hunting trip, so Samiir bagged them and continued on her way.

A day later, she found the Handsome One from so many years ago, riding alongside four guards atop a dappled steed.

‘ _ A truly fitting horse, _ ’ Samiir thought when she saw him. However, when she barged out of the woods to say hello, the group halted and three guards dismounted, weapons drawn. Samiir backed away, raising her hands.

“It’s alright!” She said, staying on her toes in case the Nords decided they wanted to settle this the best way they know how; with a bloody fight. “Stormcloak! Do you remember me? My name is Samiir, we met back in Solitude a few years ago.”

The guards hesitated and looked back at Ulfric, who looked rather hesitant himself. After a moment, he dismounted and gave the remaining guard the reins, who was already holding the other three horses. Samiir held her hands in front of her, right wrist in left hand, and made her shoulders as wide as they would go. Ulfric stopped a few paces from her and looked her up and down.

“No one could forget a face like yours,” he said and focused on Samiir’s damaged left eye.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Samiir chuckled, “I don’t think I could take all five of you in a fight, no matter how fast I move.” The guards seemed pleased with her response, two of them moving back to their horses and the third staying at Ulfric’s side.

“Where were you heading?” Ulfric asked, returning to his horse. “We’re going just up the road to Dragon Bridge if you want to come along.”

“Sure,” Samiir adjusted the furs on her back. She really regretted leaving Varbaril at home; her noble black steed surely would’ve impressed these Stormcloaks. She placed her game in a cart hitched to one of the horses and climbed up behind the kind guard that offered her the back. They continued along, and Samiir remembered the strange bottles in her sack. Digging them out, she looked at Ulfric, who rode alongside her, and asked him what they were.

**“I do not know,”** he said, and Samiir shrugged, putting them back.

When they reached Dragon Bridge, Samiir got off a few lengths from the town and left her game in the town’s carriage before continuing in to sell what extra loot she had. Upon entering the trader, she was greeted by a guard that gave her a bone-chilling look; she ignored it and continued on. Emptying her bag onto the counter, she set everything upright and asked the clerk how much he would give for all of it. He took one look at the two mystery bottles, called the guard over, and before Samiir knew what was going on, told her she was under arrest and knocked her out cold.

She awoke later in a jail cell, stripped of her belongings and forced into rags.

“Excuse me!” She called to the guard down the hall. “Why am I in here? What was I arrested for?”

The guard scoffed and gave her the same look the other one did. “You were arrested for possession of, and intent to sell Skooma, which is very illegal. I don’t know what it’s like wherever you came from, but doing shit like that here can land you in deep trouble.”

“You can’t do that! I didn’t even know it was Skooma!” She shook the iron door to her cell in frustration. “Listen, I need you to call on Ulfric Stormcloak. He can vouch for me!”

“Tell you what,” the guard sighed. “I will because you’ve been awake for five minutes and already making me lose it.” He went up the stairs, and Samiir caught bits of the conversation. They really were writing a letter to Ulfric! She’d be free! It wasn’t until later that she remembered the pelts and meat she’d left in the carriage, and had to stop herself from shouting. The same guard returned later and stood watch.

“Hey, how long until I’m out?” She asked.

“Your sentence is thirty days, but if Ulfric Stormcloak keeps time, you’ll be out in a few days.”

 

He never wrote back.


	3. High King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ulfric kills High King Torygg with the power of the voice, Samiir helps him escape. Solitude, 4E 201.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue credit to Wayward. This would be a LOT less interesting without his help :')

The third time he lied was that fateful day in Solitude when he killed the High King with his voice. Samiir had been collecting flowers in and around Solitude, as per her mother’s request, for the better part of the day. She had just about finished plucking a few from the bushes around the Blue Palace when Ulfric Stormcloak rushed through the front door.

“The meeting concluded early, I must be on my way. Something has come up,” Ulfric informed the guard, who nodded and resumed his post. Samiir watched as he strode down the path, though panicked once he made a beeline for her.

“Ulfric? Has something happened?” She asked, though she really wasn’t in the mood to help him with anything. He had never helped her.

“Torygg has been murdered and **I am being framed,** ” he explained, ushering Samiir down the road.

“What, you want me to help?” Samiir pulled him into an alley and gave him a glare she was sure he wouldn’t soon forget. “Do you remember the Skooma? The guards wrote to you and you never vouched for me, even though you said you would!”

“I never-” Ulfric tried to argue, but Samiir cut him off.

“I was stuck in that damp, cramped cell for thirty days. My parents’ business nearly went under because I wasn’t there to hunt, and not to mention how worried they were! I’m not helping you until I know you’ll help me.”

“Well, I never received any letter. Had I, I most definitely would have vouched for you.”

“Really, now?” Samiir felt her face heating in anger. “Because I _starkly_ recall showing you the bottles, and yet you somehow had no idea what they were. Say, how is it a jarl doesn’t know what is and isn’t illegal in his own _fucking country?!_ ”

“Perhaps I misread the label?”

“There was no label because you don’t label shit when it’s illegal.”

“Ah, you know that’s actually really interesting because—run!” Ulfric pulled Samiir further down the alley, though she tried to pull away. Looking back at the main road, she saw guards storming by, obviously searching for her Handsome One.

“Will you,” Samiir tried to get in front of him, “let me lead?” Dragging him back to her pace, she switched their hands around so that hers was in front and continued on down Solitude’s winding alleys, careful to avoid busy streets. She felt like they had been running forever, but a small part of her enjoyed it. Maybe she was _destined_ for a life of crime!

Eventually, they made it a few buildings short of the front gate, which the guards had, remarkably, not reached yet.

“See, I knew you’d pull through for me.” Ulfric gave a breathless chuckle.

“That’s what I said about you,” Samiir scoffed, searching for a way to get him from the alley to the gates, “and look where it got me.”

Samiir truly wasn’t having this today, and when Ulfric opened his mouth to retort, nothing came out. He closed his mouth again and looked rather flustered at the fact that he couldn’t sass back. Samiir still hadn’t released his hand, so he had no choice but to follow as she snuck forward to check around the building, and then move back. And then do it again.

“Anyways,” Ulfric interrupted before Samiir could do it for a third time, “let’s go along now. They’re trying to put the death of the High King on me, and I’d rather not be around while everyone is being led on that assumption.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“ **The people that killed the High King, of course. Who knows why they want me, of all people, to take the fall.** ”

“Oh, I can’t imagine.” Samiir led him across the courtyard and stopped just before the gate, looking around for any onlookers. “So, this is farewell.”

“I suppose it is.” Ulfric was growing more and more anxious by the second. Samiir gave him one last look before backing away and running down the path and onto a side street. Ulfric called up to Roggvir, who opened the gate and let Ulfric get away, and that was that.


	4. Recruitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping the chaos in Solitude, Samiir makes her way to Windhelm to join Ulfric’s forces. Northern Skyrim, 2nd of Last Seed, 4E 201, to 14th of Last Seed, 4E 201.

Whether or not Ulfric lied the fourth time is debatable. Looking back, it seemed like so, but you must also take into account the events before and after. So, I leave it up to you. After that day in Solitude, every Nord loyal to the Empire went out searching for Ulfric. Though Samiir had built a slight distaste for the man, she still worried. So, being the logical person she was, she decided to make the trip to Windhelm in hopes that he would be there.

On the 2nd of Last Seed, when the sun was scorching and the docks were busy with fishermen and travelers alike, Samiir made her rounds around Solitude to say goodbye to those she knew. She had formed a brilliant plan: leave Solitude under the impression that she was hunting Ulfric, and amble her way across Skyrim until she either found him or reached Windhelm, whichever came first. She didn’t know what she would do when she got there, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Maybe she would join up, maybe she would give Ulfric a good yelling at for lying to her  _ again _ . Whatever it was, hopefully, the trip would be worthwhile.

Smiling at everyone she passed, Samiir thought over her plan again and again and tried not to let her anxiety get the better of her. After all, she had never been without her parents. There was always a roof and warm meal awaiting her in Solitude, and she knew that if word reached the guards that she had befriended Ulfric, she and her family would be banished, at best, and executed, at worst. She’d also made friends here: Erdi, a servant at the Blue Palace, Beirand, the Imperial blacksmith, the people that run the market stalls. Solitude and her people were so integrated into Samiir’s life that she had no idea what it would be like without them.

Coming up on Castle Dour, Samiir climbed the ramps and hoisted herself over the half wall, too lazy to go around.

“Beirand!” She called, pulling out her dagger to examine it.

“Ah, Samiir,” Beirand appeared from behind a tanning rack, “what a surprise! What might I do for you today?”

“I needed to tell you something, but my dagger is getting a bit dull. Do you think you could sharpen it for me?”

“Not a problem!” Beirand--bless his overworked soul-- took the dagger and began sharpening away at the grindstone. “Is that bow I made for you still holding up?”  
A few years after Samiir arrived in Solitude, she requested a special bow from Beirand, and he delivered. When he gave it to her, he had said, “This bow is your life.”

“Yes,” Samiir said, leaning against the canopy post, “it still works wonderfully. You’re an excellent weaponsmith.”

“Good! Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“Well,” Samiir’s stomach dropped a bit, and she hesitated. “You know how everyone is out hunting for Ulfric Stormcloak? I want in on the fun.” She cringed as Beirand stopped the grindstone and gave her the Disappointed Grandfather look he was so good at.

“Samiir,” he began, “you’re a bright young woman. You’re a talented hunter, you’ve got a knack for smithing, you’re very personable. I don’t want to see you throw your life away because of one man. Trust me, lass, he isn’t worth hunting down.”

“But I  _ want _ to,” Samiir said flatly, crossing her arms. She wanted to tell Beirand the truth so badly, and though she knew he wouldn’t sell her out to the Imperials, she couldn’t take any chances.

Upon hearing this, Beirand sighed and finished the work on Samiir’s dagger. He stood and handed it to her, gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and said, “That’s your most irritating feature: you’re stubborn as the mountains. Whatever awaits you out there, I pray it treats you well. Come back to us soon, and remember; that bow of your’s is your life.” Samiir smiled and nodded, then went back down the path and continued on to the Blue Palace to say her goodbye to Erdi, her dearest friend in Solitude.

 

Later, after Samiir told her dear friend goodbye, Erdi’s last words stuck in her head.

“I wish I could come; can’t you imagine? The two of us traveling across Skyrim, strapping men at every tavern, riches and glory down every trail!” Samiir had chided her about how dangerous it was, and Erdi had no right to get killed and leave Samiir alone in the world. Erdi had laughed at this, then cried, and the two hugged and didn’t let go for some time. It was hard to say goodbye, but it would’ve had to happen some time or another. Elves live much longer than Nords, you know. Having said goodbye to everyone in the city, Samiir walked out the gates and swung down the path to the docks. She stopped halfway down the slope and stepped onto the cliff edge, watching the hustle and bustle of everyday fishermen below. After a moment of watching, she saw an argonian back up too far and fall into the water, then climb out to a chorus of laughter from his crew. Stifling a giggle, she continued down the path and set foot on the docks. Taking a deep breath, she made her way to her parents' stall and collected her travel bag, stuffed to the brim with supplies.

“Samiir,” her mother said from the tanning rack just behind the stall, “I sent an extra blanket to the stables for Varbaril. It gets cold out there, you know.”

Swinging her pack onto her back, Samiir smiled, “yes, Mother, thank you.”

“My girl,” her father choked up as he finished serving a customer and stepped away from the counter. “Be safe out there. These lands are not Falinesti.”

“I know, Papa. I’ll be careful. I love you.” Samiir hugged her parents in turn, and her father returned to the counter to serve another customer. “You’ve found another hunter, yes?”

“Oh, yes,” her mother said, “there’s a young man from the city market that agreed to partner with us. I can hunt for us sometimes, too. I want your father to stay here; he’s so charismatic.”

“You were never really a people person, Mother,” Samiir recalled.

“That, I am not. You take after me,” her mother laughed.

“Mother!”

“I speak from the heart, love.” Her mother set aside her tanning and hugged her daughter once more before sending her off into the harsh wilds of Skyrim, praying her daughter took after her enough to have some sense and survive.

Walking back up towards the gates, Samiir noticed that the tower watch had dramatically increased after the death of Torygg.

"You, there! Where are you going?" A guard called from above.

"Out," Samiir replied, slowing her pace but still walking, "to hunt the crown killer, Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Fair enough," the guard replied, then hesitated. "Wait, I know you!" Samiir stopped in her tracks. "You're that wood elf from the docks! You gave me that pelt once! I thank you for that."

"You're welcome, sir!" Samiir replied, smiling at him before turning back towards the stables. "I also gave your daughter the best night of her life," she chuckled to herself.

 

In the stables, Samiir found Blaise with Varbaril, having already saddled him for Samiir’s departure.

“Blaise, my boy, when I get my own home, you will be my first son.” She patted the young orphan on the head, smiling down at him.

“Good luck, Sammy!” He beamed up at her.  _ Sammy _ , she mused, and pulled an apple from her pack for the boy.

“For now, though,” she grinned, pulling the boy out of the stable, “you’re going to live with my parents. You know them, right?”

“Really?” Blaise’s eyes lit up and he began bouncing with excitement. “You’re gonna let me have your room?”

“Until I get back! By then I’ll have enough for a place of my own and you and I can hunt as many elk as we want and fish whenever we please. I might even get you your own horse.” At this point, Blaise was almost crying. He wrapped Samiir in the biggest hug he could manage and thanked her before running off to the docks. Samiir laughed to herself before turning back to Varbail. The tall black stallion swished his tail expectedly, knowing he had a great adventure ahead of him. She lead him out of his stall and into the open, then swung herself into the saddle and situated herself. She was ready to disembark but was stopped by Katla storming out of the mill.

“You took my farm boy?” Katla demanded, but Samiir knew she meant well.

“Katla, my dear,” Samiir playfully mocked, “Blaise is as good as mine. I know you need extra hands around here. If you need him, he’ll be with my parents. My mother may be able to help you, too.” Varbaril grew impatient, wondering why he wasn’t soaring through the wilds by now, and began pawing at the ground.

“Well, then,” Katla put her hands on her hips, “good luck on...whatever it is you’re doing now.”

“Fare thee well, maiden,” Samiir waved at the Nord woman before kicking Varbaril onto the trail and out of Solitude.

 

The journey to Windhelm took 12 days of near nonstop traveling. Samiir was lucky Varbaril had been bred for endurance; of all Skyrim’s wonders, the horses were Samiir’s favorite. Varbaril took her down cliffs and trails less traveled, across rivers, through towns, by packs of starving winter wolves, hungry for an easy feast. Samiir and her trusty steed would provide no such meal. It was a near straight shot from Solitude to Windhelm, as long as you stayed north. Samiir began to miss the warmth of home; the breeze from the open ocean, the smiles of kind people. Just a few hours into her journey, she had nearly caved from her ache for familiarity, but she wanted to ensure that her handsome one was safe first. She thought of what she felt often, and just when she genuinely considered turning back, out and far from the white wasteland, she spotted Windhelm’s towering outer wall.

“There it is, Var!” Samiir gave the stallion a pat on the neck as she urged him into a gallop. Their breaths came out as vapor, leaving a cloud as they raced down the road to the city.

 

As they came upon the bridge leading to the mighty city, Samiir pulled Varbaril back into a trot, then a walk, then hopped off and lead him into the stable.

“Looking to board?” Asked an Altmer man, setting his book aside and rising from his seat along the stable wall.

“Yes, sir,” Samiir handed the man Varbaril’s reins, “he’s got a blanket tied to the back of his saddle if you’re up for untacking him. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.” She handed the man a bag of gold, surely enough to cover a few days board.

“Thank you,” he said, pocketing the bag and leading Varbaril into a stall next to the sturdy bays already in the stable. “Mind if I ask what you’re in Windhelm for? We don’t get many elves around here.”

“I’ve got some business in the palace. My name is Samiir, if you need to find me.” Samiir stuck her hand out for a handshake, which she had begrudgingly grown accustomed to. The man shook her hand and smiled.

“My name is Ulundil. My wife,” he gestured up towards his house, “is Arivanya. Nice to meet you.” Samiir returned his smile and continued on her noble, perhaps lovestruck, quest. She crossed the bridge, bracing against the freezing winds that shoved her this way and that, but made it to the doors. Snow was brushed to the sides of the huge doors, and Samiir was struck with nostalgia about her first look at Solitude. Taking a deep breath, she nodded to the guards outside the gate and pushed open the magnificent entrance to the city. She began muttering to herself as she heaved them open,  _ 14th of Last Seed, 12 Gods damned days for this blonde asshole, he’d better be here or I’m throwing myself off this fucking bridge. _

Inside Windhelm, there were very few people about. Dark elves hanging about one alley, Nords going about their days down another, and a few people outside what Samiir collected to be a tavern. Pulling her cloak closer to her face, she kept her head down and followed the maze of the city up to the palace, where more guards waited outside the doors. Samiir braced herself for questioning, but remarkably, the guards nodded to her as she passed and she could’ve sworn one of them actually welcomed her to the Palace of Kings. When she pushed yet another door open, she was grateful to be flooded by the smell of fresh food and a fire, the warmth of the palace nearly burning her face after the dozen days she spent in the cold.

 

“Well, hello!” Said a maid, stopping her sweeping to gawk at Samiir. Samiir grinned at her, flashing her teeth. The maid shuffled back, but was interested. Samiir situated her cloak around her to look as regal as possible before walking down the feast table, her mouth watering at the assortment of meats and vegetables. However, she controlled herself and continued down the room, stopping before the throne and gazing upon its emptiness.

“His majesty Ulfric Stormcloak is in the war room, to your left.” Called the maid. Samiir grunted in appreciation and entered the room, forcing all the men inside to stop their conversation and stare at her. Lucky for Samiir, however, it was just Ulfric and his right hand, Galmar Stone-fist.

“Hello, little elf,” Galmar muttered, staring at her down the bridge of his nose. Samiir couldn’t help but laugh at him. She was taller, and he had to tilt his head back to look the way he wanted.

“Samiir!” Ulfric patted her roughly on the back, and she coughed out an  _ Ulfric! _ “I’m glad to see you made it out of Solitude! I was sure someone had seen you helping me.”

“Yeah,” Samiir growled, “and you didn’t stick around to see if I survived or not.” Ulfric returned to his war table, ignoring her remark. “No one suspected me, if you even cared to know.”

“Why are you here?” Galmar interrupted, leaning on the table.

“I want to join the Stormcloaks.” She saw Ulfric’s breath catch in his throat.

“Then you must travel out onto the sea and slay an ice wraith.” Galmar was very unspecific in his instructions, and Samiir gave him the neutral face of displeasure.

“Hold on a moment, Galmar,” Ulfric turned his attention back to Samiir. “How did you get here?”

“Um, by horse?” Wasn’t that obvious? She wasn’t going to walk across Skyrim for some Nord, no matter how attractive he was, or how his deep voice made her heart skip beats and made her lightheaded, or made her think of things in the dark of the night...

“By horse? You didn’t take a carriage?” Ulfric was obviously dumbfounded, and so was Samiir. A carriage! That was...so much easier. Rather than admitting defeat, Samiir retorted with the first thing that came to mind.

“I didn’t want to leave my horse behind in Solitude. He’s...a good boy.”

“How long did it take you?” At this point, Ulfric was leaning on the table so hard he was practically climbing on it to interrogate her.

“Twelve days.”

“By horse?”

“Yes.”

“In your,” Ulfric paused to look Samiir up and down, judging her thin leather armor, “flimsiest armor?”

“I brought my cloak,” she gestured widely to the deer hide cloak, which was topped with an orange fox pelt to keep her face warm. “Isn’t that good enough for you, pretty boy?”

Ulfric just grunted, continuing to evaluate Samiir before turning to Galmar.“She’s already passed the entry test.”

“She hasn’t even left yet.” Galmar was shocked at the turn of protocol.

“No, Galmar, but if she can travel from Solitude in twelve days, on horseback, in  _ leather armor _ and a hide cloak, I think she’s Stormcloak material.” Ulfric became more dramatic with each thing he listed about Samiir, gesturing aggressively as he spoke. Samiir hummed in agreement; the last thing she wanted to do right now was go back outside. Ulfric returned to Samiir and stuck out his hand.

“Welcome to the Stormcloak army.  **We’re honored to have you alongside us** .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> samiir is VERY bisexual thank you for asking


	5. Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samiir fetches documents from Ulfric’s quarters for Galmar and realizes something about herself. Windhelm, 21st of Frostfall, 4E 201.

Four days after Samiir arrived in Windhelm, Ulfric left again, early in the morning, to go back west towards Solitude for “war business”, and was captured the next day. Samiir was nearly packed to go after him, but Galmar shook his head and told her, “the gods will judge Ulfric wherever the Imperials take him. Let us pray they judge him innocent and return him to Windhelm.” Samiir, begrudgingly, unpacked her bag and waited around the palace for news. Some days after he was captured, he returned home, followed immediately by news of what had happened. Turns out, rather than taking the Stormcloak prisoners to the Imperial capital, they ran them by Helgen to be executed. Ulfric told his war party about the carriage, a dragon black as night, and a dark elf named Nalabi Aduain that he last saw following a good soldier named Ralof.

“That’s quite a story,” she had said.

“Not a story, my friend,” he had smiled at her, “I speak nothing but the truth.”

“Like that one time, you said you would vouch for me and then left me in jail at Dragon Bridge?”

“You don’t want to do this again, do you?” He laughed, but that was then.

 

This was now. It had been two months; the 21st of Frostfall, if Samiir had recalled correctly. Now, she lived in the Palace of Kings, down the hall from Ulfric, with the rest of his war party and guards. She bunked with another woman, a Nord guard named Sigga. Sigga was beautiful; golden hair and sky blue eyes, and skin like ivory. Truly, the height of Nordic genetics, but Sigga didn’t hold Samiir’s heart as Ulfric did. Despite all he had done, Samiir still held him in her heart as someone to trust and care for. She thought of this as she stood in the war room, by the wall, watching he and his war party discuss something about the Markarth Incident, murders, Forsworn, and that dark elf named Nalabi Aduain. Turns out, she was the Dragonborn. Samiir thought it was strange that the Dragonborn was dabbling in western Nord affairs rather than fighting dragons, but it sounded like this Nalabi had it under control. Sort of.

“Samiir,” Galmar’s voice drew her out of her thoughts, “in Ulfric’s chambers, there is a table along the left wall of the room. In the middle drawer are documents on the Markarth Incident. Fetch them for me.” Samiir noticed Ulfric’s puzzled expression; how did Galmar know so much? Ulfric asked him just that as Samiir turned and went up the hall towards Ulfric’s chambers. His was the very last room in the hall, fronted by a slightly more detailed door than the barracks had. Pushing it open, Samiir paused to take in the room. It seemed fairly standard for a jarl; a large bed in the center, a sitting area with books and food, and that table, just where Galmar had said it would be. Samiir walked over, opened the middle drawer, and leafed through documents until she found a few titled _The Markarth Incident_ , dated 4E 174; over a decade before the Oakrun family docked in Solitude.

She turned on her heel, having grabbed what she needed, but curiosity got the best of her and she began skimming through the documents. They told of how the Nords in Markarth had left to fight the elves in the Great War, and the native Reachmen took the city back, fighting off all forces that dared retaliate, save one; Ulfric and his militia. When they arrived, Ulfric shouted the archers from the walls and laid siege to the city. They took it back, most natives were executed, **others thrown in jail**. Jarl Hrolfdir allowed the worship of Talos, which was contradicted by the White-Gold Concordat, and when the Empire came to enforce it, Ulfric and his men were imprisoned and thus, the Stormcloak Rebellion was born. Samiir paused to think over the documents; she had heard tales of the Markarth Incident, the aftermath, and had heard about the rebellion from the big men themselves; never had she known they were all connected. Reading over the part about the Thu’um, she remembered what Ulfric had said to her in Solitude. She knew he was lying to her then; she had heard many people gossiping about it on her journey. Ulfric Stormcloak, the Kingslayer, the man who shouted Torygg to death because the king chose peace over senseless bloodshed. She didn’t want to bring it up, but a part of her admired the way Ulfric stood up for the right to worship his gods.

Gripping the papers, she returned to the war room and left them on the table. Galmar grunted his thanks and they continued their debate. Samiir didn’t care much to listen; she focused on Ulfric the rest of the meeting.

She hadn’t really thought about it before, but the more she looked at him, the more she came to adore the way he furrows his brows when he listens to his party or the way he subtly smiles at Galmar’s smart remarks, or how much he actually messes with his mop of golden hair. After a while of staring, Samiir began to realize that maybe she had fallen in love with the man, maybe the spark had set when she saw him in that marketplace 14 years ago, and only one word passed her mind; _fuck_.

 

A few hours passed while Ulfric and his men discussed what should be done in Markarth if anything should be done at all. Samiir left the room a few times for food, water, or a privy, but every time she returned, they were still discussing what they had been when she left. Eventually, she had nothing left to do, and sat by the weapons rack and began picking at the arrows in the community quiver. After what could have been a few years, Ulfric dismissed the party. Even Galmar, who almost never left Ulfric’s side, went into the Great Hall to eat whatever the cooks had set on the table. Samiir looked at Ulfric, who was visibly exhausted from nearly a day of political debate and decisions.

“Not much of a debater, huh?” Samiir rose from her chair and walked to the opposite side of the war table, smiling warmly at the Nord.

“Give me a sword and I’ll fight all day. I’m not sure how much more I can take of politics.” He sighed and brushed his hair back --Samiir’s smile grew bigger--and braced himself on the table.

“Spoken like a true Nord,” she said. She moved to walk to Ulfric’s side of the table but hesitated.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, and Samiir was taken by surprise.

“What do you mean?” She blinked a few times, breaking eye contact to look around the room, and then back at Ulfric.

“You’re hesitant.”

“How do you know?”

“Because your breath caught in your throat and you moved to hold one hand in the other.” Samiir became even more surprised; surely he hadn’t paid as much attention to her as she did to him.

“Bold of you to assume you know anything about me,” Samiir muttered; she didn’t want him to know how much she cared. That’s too big of a window to attack and she didn’t want to risk anything.

“I thought I’d repay your favor,” Ulfric smiled at Samiir, “I can see you watching.” Samiir closed her eyes and sighed.

“My apologies,” she said sarcastically.

“I think it’s charming.”

“Charming,” Samiir scoffed and rolled her eyes. She turned around to avoid further conversation, but her body turned her back around, and she met the Nord’s eyes again.

“I mean it.”

“Well,” Samiir cleared her throat, “why don’t we go eat? I’m starved.” She barely choked out the last part, and Ulfric’s smile turned to a grin.

“Ladies first, my dear,” he gestured to the door, and Samiir blushed up to the pointed tips of her ears. Needless to say, dinner was a little awkward.

 

“You alright there, elf?” Galmar asked between mouthfuls of venison. “You’re looking mighty red.”

“Just cold,” she replied gruffly, picking vegetables away from her meat. For a while, Samiir had ignored the Green Pact of the Bosmer people, and feasted upon plant life as she pleased. Now, as Skyrim grew colder and snows covered crop fields, the plants became less enjoyable and she reverted to the pact as an excuse not to eat them.

“Cold!” Galmar exclaimed, laughing through his food. “You’ve lived in Skyrim for years, girl! Get used to it.” Samiir could only smile and laugh softly, feeling Ulfric’s eyes on her the entire time.

 

Dinner concluded and Samiir returned to the war room to count arrows, waiting for everyone in the palace to go to bed so that maybe she might go out and watch the stars from the bridge. Ulfric, however, had other plans.

 

Satisfied that most of the palace was asleep, save for the night guards and late night maids, Samiir walked down the hall to her room and saw that Sigga was already snoring away. She cracked a small smile before closing the door behind her and getting ready for bed, but still dressed warmly enough to sneak onto the bridge. It was only until she was in her warmest nightdress that she realized a note had been left on her bed. She held her breath as she picked it up and opened it.

 

_Samiir,_

_It has come to my attention that there may be a spy in our midst. I have spoken to most of the staff already but could not find time to question you._  

_Report to my chambers as soon as you receive this message, as it will likely be late. Failure to report will result in severe consequences._

_\--Ulfric Stormcloak_

 

Samiir gulped at the letter, reading it again to make sure she got everything right. She was no spy! He had known her from the beginning. Was her Solitude home really enough to accuse her of such? She grabbed her cloak from the foot of her bed and with it came her own empty quiver and bow. Angry and not really in the mood to struggle with this shit, she slung her cloak over her nightdress and went up the hall to Ulfric’s chambers, the note in her shaking hands. She knocked on the door once and entered on his distant command, closing the door behind her.

Ulfric sat at a table in the corner, just as Samiir had seen earlier. He was not yet out of his armor, but he had taken his fur cloak off, giving a better look of the shining iron and rich blue sash.

“Good to see you again,” he said, taking a sip from a tankard. Samiir, still furious, stormed across the room and threw the note on the table in front of him.

“You dare accuse me of spying?” She demanded, staring down at him.

“You are from Solitude, my dear,” he took another drink but kept eye contact.

“That’s enough reason?!”

“It would explain why you watch me so intently, and why you have your bow with you.”

Samiir cringed. He got her there, and for once, Samiir couldn’t find a way to retort. Finally, Ulfric followed up, “unless you have another reason to stare?”

Samiir felt her face heating up again.

“Well?” Ulfric set down his tankard and leaned forward, giving her _that look_.

“I watch because you captivate me,” Samiir admitted with a sigh, unable to lie when his eyes seemed to pierce her soul.

“I captivate you?”

“Yes,” she wondered if she should tell him all she notices, but she had a feeling he knew.

“Why?” Ulfric demanded, and Samiir was taken aback. She hesitated in her answer, thinking with her hands, just as he had said she did.

“I believe I might have fallen in love with you.”

Ulfric leaned back in his chair, a devious grin on his face and a new look in his eyes. “Love?”

“A childish thing, really, pay it no heed.”

“Oh, but I must. It’s not every day one of a rebel king’s finest soldiers falls in love with him.” Samiir huffed, _finest soldier, huh?_

“Then how do you plan on handling it?” Samiir asked, crossing her arms. She looked down at her arms, making sure they looked menacing enough and realized in all her fury, she had left the crisscrossing pattern of the collar lazily tied. By the gods, she was in her commander’s chambers, in her nightdress, which was nearly exposing half of her chest, talking about how much she loved him! Ulfric rose from his seat, dragging Samiir out of her screaming mind and back into the moment. She stepped away from him, genuinely scared of what was about to happen.

“The truth is, Samiir,” he said, moving closer to her, “I believe I may feel the same.” Astounded by how well this was going, Samiir let her arms fall to her sides, and Ulfric grabbed one of them and pulled her closer. Now, she knew how the rest was going to play out; she had been the Ulfric to many Samiirs in her life. Trying to get one step ahead, she took her arm from him and wrapped both of them around his shoulders, knotted her fingers just behind his head, and she kissed him. She heard his breath catch and he hesitated, but he leaned into the kiss, wrapping his own arms around her waist.

When they pulled away, Ulfric kept his face close to hers, his breath soft but shallow with anticipation.

“If I may,” Samiir whispered, removing her hands from behind him. She reached back and pulled her bow from her cloak, and Ulfric stepped back. “A wise man made me this bow. He told me it was my life.” She pressed her most prized weapon into Ulfric’s hands. “I want you to have it.”

Ulfric, obviously touched, smiled wide and chuckled, looking over the simple bow. He set it on the table next to them and returned his hands to her waist.

“You’re mine, and **I’m yours**. If this war kills us, it kills us; but first, we live.” Samiir saw his eyes flicker to the bed, and she grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bone town heavily implied, ulfric you sly dog ;)


	6. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon returning to Windhelm after delivering messages for Ulfric, Samiir finds something out about him. Windhelm, 9th of Evening Star to 19th of Evening Star, 4E 201.

After that night in the rebel king’s chambers, Samiir and Ulfric had been careful to avoid the spread of gossip between them. Had Imperials in Solitude heard that the local huntress with the lovely parents on the docks was involved with Ulfric Stormcloak, the King Killer, they surely would’ve wiped the Oakrun family from existence. Ulfric sent Samiir into fewer battles, perhaps to keep her safe, perhaps to avoid talk of their relationship, and on more diplomatic missions. Today, on the 9th of Evening Star, he had told her to pack for over a week’s journey to Whiterun. With her bag packed with food and daggers and an amulet of Talos that her lover had gifted her, she walked down to the war room, where Ulfric waited.

“There you are, moon of my life,” he greeted warmly, setting aside the diplomatic documents he was reading over. He was weary as ever, his bright eyes showing his lack of sleep as the war approached its most difficult stretch. It had been nothing but petty squabbles on the roads, one attack on a fort, and yards of parchment meant for correspondence with other rebel jarls.

“What magnificent adventure are you sending me on this time?” Samiir asked, kissing him on the cheek. Everything was so much easier when your lover was nearly as tall as you were.

"Deliver my axe to Balgruuf the Greater," Ulfric demanded as he brought the shining weapon down from its rack.

“An axe, my love?” Samiir wrinkled her nose, staring at the axe with disdain.

“Yes, girl, an axe. How long have you been in Skyrim? Take the man my axe!” Ulfric slammed it down on the war table, sending a few colored markers flying. Samiir took a step back as one landed at her feet, then turned her steady gaze to the Nord.

“Fourteen years, Ulfric; don’t you remember?” She knew it was a rhetorical question, but she loved to answer them when Ulfric asked, just to see him struggle to come up with witty banter.

“Yes, I remember,” he sighed, smoothing back his long, blonde hair. “Forgive my temper. It’s been a hard day.”

Samiir huffed a laugh and took the axe off the table, looking over the fine details engraved in the metal. “Should I say anything to him?”

“Men who understand each other often have no need for words. Be wary, my love; Balgruuf is known for his temper.”

“Or rather,” Samiir slid the axe into an open holster on her belt, “his startling good looks and voice as smooth as silk?”

Now it was Ulfric’s turn to look on with disdain. “You’ve met him?”

“Once, a few years ago. I was delivering hides to Dragonsreach.”

“Just delivering hides?” Ulfric became overwhelmingly serious, and got that look in his eye; the one that made Samiir want to melt on the spot.

“Yes, my sun and stars,” Samiir squeezed his arm reassuringly as she walked around the table, towards the door, “just hides.”

Before she could enter the Great Hall, Ulfric pulled her back in.

“Be safe.” He whispered, then pressed his lips against her forehead.

“Never, by the nine divines, would I make a promise like that,” she chuckled. He smiled at her and let her leave.

 

Down at the stables, Varbaril was waiting for her in the stables, alongside one bay. The other bay had been sold to a weary travel but a few months ago, and many people had tried to buy Varbaril. Ulundil had grown so sick of saying no that he put up a sign saying ‘ _Black Stallion NOT For Sale_.’

“Morning, Samiir,” he greeted her, looking up from his book.

“Good morning, Ulundil,” Samiir replied as she took Varbaril’s bridle and saddle off the tack wall.

“Where are you headed today?”

“Whiterun,” she eased Varbaril’s head into the bridle before moving on to the saddle. “I have a delivery for Jarl Balgruuf.”

“Well, good luck,” the Altmer said. A gust of winter wind blew through the stable and the elves shivered. “Stay warm! Traveling must be dreadful now.”

“Thank you. I’ll try,” Samiir swung up onto Varbaril’s back and urged him into a trot out of the stables and onto the road towards Whiterun.

 

Samiir wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she got a little lost along the way. What was supposed to be a four-to-five day journey turned into six days, but she made it to Whiterun. She could see its walls at the edge of the prairie it claimed dominion over. She let Varbaril stop to graze and rest his legs, and once she dismounted, she dug through her bag for something to eat. She found some dried meat, nearly caked in salt. She wrinkled her nose as she brushed the salt into a specific salt bag, as it was probably more valuable than gold in the long run. Chewing on the tough meat, she gazed at the city in thought.

Just as she had heard with many other things, people told her Whiterun’s culture often. Ysgramor’s Companions, the frequent werewolf sightings, khajiit caravans, fantastic hunting grounds, et cetera. When she delivered hides years ago, she didn’t think to look around much. She saw the overturned ship that served as the home of the legendary Companions, the Gildergreen in the middle of the center district --whatever it had been called. Had she not been tethered to the north, she could’ve made an excellent life in this humble city.

After about half an hour, Samiir had finished her food and Varbaril had picked the ground around him clean of grass. Jumping back on, she kicked him into a gallop. Veering off the road, she let him fly through the fields, the central city growing closer by the second. When she made it to the stables, she jumped off and lead Varbaril up to a man in the stables. As she handed the Nord the reins, she couldn’t help but notice the sturdy black mare already in the stables.

“Welcome to Whiterun, traveler!” The man said, looking Samiir over.

“Thank you, sir. Would you mind holding him here for an hour or so? I’ve got business with the jarl.”

“Of course, ma’am.” He lead Varbaril to the stall next to the mare. “Say, what is this horse’s name?”

“His name is Varbaril,” Samiir answered, shrugging her shoulders against the weight of her pack. The man hummed, then pushed Varbaril’s forelock away from his forehead, revealing the white star that his thick mane hid.

“Well, I’ll be!” The Nord exclaimed.

“Do you know my horse?” Samiir laughed, coming up behind the Nord. He turned around with the biggest smile Samiir had ever seen.

“I bred this old boy! Alfsigr here,” he gestured to the mare, “is his mother.”

“No way!” Sammir laughed, reaching out to pet the mare. Alfsigr pressed her muzzle into Samiir’s hand, and she smiled at the soft snoot. “She’s beautiful.”  
“Aye, that she is. She’s given me a few other sturdy horses; her foals always sell for good gold. How much did you buy Var...Varbarrel...for?”

“Varbaril,” Samiir corrected. “I bought him for a thousand gold pieces.”

“Ah, standard price. I sold him to a Breton for the same.”

“Yes,” Samiir recalled, “he decided the sea was his calling and sold Var to me just before he left. My parents work on the docks in Solitude.”

“That Breton was an interesting man.”

“Indeed he was,” Samiir patted Alfsigr on the neck before going on her way. “It was nice to meet you, my friend. I’ll be back in a few hours. Look Varbaril over, if you want; I thought about putting him up for stud when I returned home.”

“Gladly, miss!”

 

As Samiir approached the gates, she was stopped by a guard; the first time such had happened since she left Solitude a few short months ago. She was surprised she wasn’t stopped more often.

“Halt! What business do you have?”

“A message for Jarl Balgruuf, from the rebels yonder north.” Samiir adored talking like proper royalty. It always threw everyone off. She might have been royalty if Ulfric won his war.

The guard grimaced beneath his helmet but returned to the door. “You’re free to enter.”

Samiir walked in as, for once, the guards pushed the gates open for her. Inside, Whiterun was almost exactly as she remembered it. Nords milling about, occasionally some Redguards, and the consistent song of wind and the ring of weapon forges from various locations. Adriana’s forge, just inside the gates, was looking rather busy today. Just under the sign, dear Adriana was arguing with some blonde man in Imperial armor about the number of swords he wanted to be sent to Solitude for Tullius. As Samiir passed, she gave Adriana a smile and a wave, and Adriana replied with a weary eye-roll towards the Nord in front of her.

Samiir wandered through the market and up the stairs to the Gildergreen, where a few people stood in prayer, and an apparently deranged man ranted to a crowd of one elderly woman about Talos and the White-Gold Concordat. Passing the tree, she looked to her right at Jorrvaskr. Outside stood a man in handsome armor, his long, dark hair pushed behind his ear on one side. An enormous broadsword was strapped to his back, and he crossed his arms in a pout.

“By the Nine, Vilkas!” She heard him call, his deep voice booming across the clearing. “You’re the slowest brother I’ve ever had.” Another man, almost identical, save for his shorter hair, opened the door to Jorrvaskr and stood next to his brother.

“I’m your only brother,” this Vilkas had more of an accent, similar to a few in Solitude if Samiir remembered correctly. She continued up to Dragonsreach, humming at the odd pair as she climbed up the stairs. When she reached the entrance, she paused to see if the guards would open the door for her, but then didn’t, and Samiir bitterly pushed them open herself.

 

The meeting wasn’t very exciting. Balgruuf wasn’t even in his throne; he was above, in the war room. Every handsome man she had ever met was in his war room, always. His Dunmer guard, Irileth, remembered Samiir from her hide delivery and left her with the jarl to deliver her message.

“You,” Balgruuf looked up from the table only once, to scan Samiir. “I remember you. The girl with the hides.”  
“Yes, sir,” Samiir stood off to the side, waiting for him to beckon her forth.

“I did not ask for more hide. Why are you here?”

“A message from Ulfric Stormcloak,” she said, pulling the beautiful axe from her belt. Balgruuf looked up a second time, holding his breath when he set his sights on the axe.

“Bring it closer, girl,” Balgruuf demanded, and Samiir complied, letting the Nord take it from her hand. “Any message?”

“Ulfric said men who understand each other have no need for words.” Samiir began to worry; she had no idea why Ulfric sent his axe. She assumed it was some war tradition, but she wasn’t sure.

“Ah,” Balgruuf chuckled, turning the weapon over in his hands, tracing the intricate carvings. “That sounds like Ulfric.”

 

They stood in silence, Samiir wondering if the should say anything, and Balgruuf deep in thought. After a while, Balgruuf grunted, “Samiir, right?”

“Yes, sir.”  
“Who is Ulfric to you?” He lifted his gaze a third time, holding Samiir on the spot. Not this shit again.

“He is my commander, Jarl Balgruuf.”

“Commander, eh? You speak fondly of him.”

“Fondly?” Samiir stifled a laugh. “I haven’t spoken a word about him, other than he gave you an axe.”

“You hold his name on your tongue like a lovestruck child.” Balgruuf smiled as Samiir looked at him like a trapped deer.

“It’s that obvious?” She cringed.

“I’m afraid so, my friend.” He set Ulfric’s axe down on the table. “I’d like to keep this axe for a few days. When I have made my decision, I’ll sent one of my guards to Windhelm with the news. In the meantime, take this book.” The blonde Nord reached under the table and pulled out a book titled _The Bear of Markarth_ , and handed it to Samiir.

“It’s about Ulfric. Think what you will of it. Return to him, my friend.”

“Thank you, sir,” Samiir murmured, turning around so fast she almost fell. She had to get out of here before more people started questioning her. She waved goodbye to Irileth, goodbye to Balgruuf’s children, and speed-walked out of Dragonsreach and down to the Gildergreen. The men from Jorrvaskr were gone, the Talos preacher was still preaching, and the simple folk continued to pray beside the towering tree. Samiir continued through the city, everything almost exactly as it was when she arrived. She left through the main gate, bid the stableman goodbye, took Varbaril, and left for Windhelm.

 

The ride home took four days. Samiir stopped only twice a day to rest, reading through _The Bear of Markarth_ at each stop. She thought it would mirror the Markarth Incident reports she had read back in Ulfric’s chambers, but it told her so much more. It wasn’t just Reachmen executed when Ulfric conquered the city. It was innocents, too. Women, children, the elderly, any man, woman, or other who didn’t raise a sword in Ulfric’s name was killed. Native women were tortured for the names of anyone involved. Ulfric Stormcloak, the king in the north, the man who held Samiir’s heart, was a horrible, brutish beast that killed innocents.

 

And it infuriated her.

 

When she returned to the stables, she left Varbaril with Ulundil and didn’t say a word. She didn’t speak to the guards, the Dunmer, not even Sigga as she stormed into the palace. Just as she was about to enter the war room, she heard Ulfric speaking loudly to who she assumed to be Galmar.

“These damned elves!” He shouted, and she could hear him slam a fist on the table. “They start a war, take away the worship of our own native god, and demand to be treated like royalty when they appear in my city!”

Samiir took a deep breath.

“I didn’t ask for the Great War! I didn’t want to be stripped of my rights! Who are they to flood Skyrim’s cities like they own the place?”  
“I know, Ulfric, but remember that you’ve got an elf in your bed.” Came Galmar’s reply. Samiir leaned closer to the door.

“Samiir?” Ulfric growled. “She believes in me wholeheartedly. She thinks it’s _charming_ that I want my country to be free.”

She had to brace herself against the wall.

“She still got you to raise dark elf wages and increase guard patrols,” Galmar said.

“I do it because I love her. To see Samiir unhappy is to lose my own happiness. It’s those damned dark elves that make her unhappy, Galmar! Their problems that plague her! She needn’t worry about them, but still, she does.”

Samiir inhaled shakily. The Dunmer were the closest she had to family in Windhelm. The only other elves for miles, the Dunmer and Ulundil and Arivanya. For a minute, Ulfric was silent, and Samiir took the opportunity to let them know she was back. She leveled her breathing and walked into the room, putting on her best smile for Ulfric.

 

“Moon of my life,” Ulfric whispered, looking at her with wide eyes.

“My sun and stars,” she kissed him on the cheek, as she had when she left.

“How was your journey, my love?” He reached for her hand, but Samiir pulled away.

“It was long. Balgruuf with send his answer in a few days time. He wanted to mull it over.”

Ulfric grimaced, glancing at Galmar. Galmar sighed and left the room, probably to eat, as he always did. Ulfric looked back at Samiir and cleared his throat to speak, but Samiir stopped him.

“I’m tired, Ulfric. I want to sleep.”

“Of course,” Ulfric wasn’t sure how to handle this, and Samiir knew he was afraid she had heard him. She left the war room, stumbled up the hall and to her own barrack, and collapsed on the bed. She didn’t cry; it was too cold to cry. She just fell asleep.

 

When she woke, the moon was well in the sky. Sigga was across the room, sound asleep. Samiir was still in her armor, her bag still packed. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, thinking for a very long time. After about an hour, she reached a decision. Quietly as she could, she lit a candle with a basic spark spell and dug around in her drawer for a quill and parchment. Using the table as a surface, she penned a note.

Samiir gathered the rest of her belongs in a second pack she kept under her bed. When she was done, it was like she had never lived in this small room in Windhelm’s Palace of Kings, like she had never slept in this bed or laughed with the Nord woman across the room. There was no sign that she had even existed in this part of Skyrim, except for the sealed note and the bow she had gifted Ulfric, which sat upon a pedestal in his room. Everything she ever had here was strapped to her back. Holding the note in her hand, Samiir took one last look at Sigga before leaving the room for good, shutting the door softly.

 

As she walked down the hall, she prayed that Ulfric had gone to bed. Oddly, there were no guards this far in tonight. Samiir hesitated once she reached Ulfric’s door, the details illuminated in the torchlight. She had seen this door so many times she was sure she could replicate it from memory. Pressing against it, she listened, but there wasn’t a sound to be heard. No rustling of the wind from an open window, no turning of book pages, not even snoring, as Ulfric sometimes did when he slept well. Holding her breath, Samiir opened the door slowly, carefully, as not to let it creak in the same spot it always had. Slipping into the room, she saw Ulfric asleep atop his covers. He was in his nightclothes, she would credit him on that, but had haphazardly fallen asleep with an open book on his chest. It took every ounce of her being not to cry.

She stuck to the edge of the wall, in fear Ulfric might wake up, as she went to retrieve her bow. Samiir couldn’t bear the thought of having to explain to him what she was doing. She reached the table and took the bow from its pedestal, slinging it over the quiver on her back. Finally gathering the courage to stand up straight, she walked directly to Ulfric’s bedside.

 

His golden hair caught glimmers of the moonlight through the windows, his face peaceful, his hands still cradling the book that lie across his chest. Samiir glanced over the cover, _The Real Barenziah_ . She smiled sadly; she had told him to read about her. Taking a deep breath, she took the book from his hands, closed it, and left it beside him on the bed. She set her note on top of it, and a single gold piece to keep it from falling off. Leaning down, Samiir kissed him, allowing her tears to roll down her face. Holding his face in her hands one last time, she whispered, “ _goodbye, my sun and stars_.”

  


And thus was the last line of her note. Ulfric awoke the next morning, shaken from a bad dream. He sat up, patting around for his book before spotting it next to him, a note and one septim placed on top. His heart began to race as he broke the seal on the letter and read it to himself, and let the letter fall from his hands. He turned around, scanning his room for more clues, though stopped once he saw the bow pedestal. Rather, the pedestal.

 

Bringing his hands to his face, Ulfric Stormcloak, the mighty kingslayer, the bear of Markarth, the rebel king in the north, began to cry so hard that no sound came out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got on a skyrim kick recently and wanted to finish this so i could do more with samiir and nalabi aduain, my official dragonborn. shes so cute yall. i love nalabi.
> 
> on a side note this chapter completely broke my heart


End file.
